


Redemption Accomplished and Applied

by historymiss



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Oneshot, religiony things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two human disasters meet outside a church</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption Accomplished and Applied

It was going to happen eventually. Matt has begun to think of the bench outside of Father Lantom’s church as his, or at least, shared property between him and the priest. It irks him in an irrationally petty way to find it occupied. Lantom would probably have something to say about that: though not a penance to mete out, not for something so small.

Still, Matt sits down on the bench with an air of possessiveness he can’t quite hide, and the interloper, at least, seems aware of this. Or perhaps it’s not Matt, but something else. Something about him radiates unease. He shifts, minutely, the wood creaking under him, and Matt hears his bones groan and shift against... metal?

“You alright?”

The other man starts, just a little, but catches himself. The wind shifts, and Matt gets a whiff of bargain-shelf detergent and restroom soap that doesn't quite cover the fact that this man’s been sleeping rough.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He makes a short half-laugh. “I’m kinda lost. This neighborhood’s really changed.”

“The Battle for New York really did a number on this place.” Matt agrees. “Half the streets are completely new.”

“Yeah, something like that.” If this guy is trying to win an award for being uncomfortably evasive, he’s going for the gold. There’s a bit of a pause- Matt swears he hears gears, but that can’t be right. “Did you live here?”

"No. No, I’m from Brooklyn.” the man says, eventually, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Or I was, anyway. I guess I wandered a bit further than I planned.”

Matt’s beginning to build a bit of a clearer picture: there’s something about the way the man’s sitting that’s heavier on his left side: he leans to the right, compensating. There’s a prosthetic attached to his shoulder, and Matt can hear the metal sliding under the skin when he moves. Who is this man?

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but they have pretty good coffee in there, and if you want to come inside, I bet Father Lantom can give you directions.”

“What? No.” The man sounds so vehement that he has to backtrack, embarrassed, waving a hand defensively. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean-” he sighs. “I’m not really a big church guy. Or, er.”

Matt cocks his head.

“Er?”

“I don’t  _think_ I am.” his voice is soft with embarrassment, his heartbeat fluttering nervously. “That sounds crazy, I know.”

“You know,” Matt fiddles with his cane. “It actually doesn't.”

He lays his cane on his lap, his knuckles cracking anew in the cold early spring air.

“I used to sit here and ask myself the same questions. Am I what I think I am? Do I belong in there, or outside?”

“And?”

Matt tastes blood in memory, mingled with rainwater, and the scar on his side aches.

“Turned out I had to decide for myself.”

“You some kind of priest?”

“The opposite, actually.” Matt offers his hand. “Matthew Murdock, attorney at law.”

“James.” The man’s heartbeat lurches. A lie. But he takes Matt’s hand, and smiles. “You sure about the coffee?”


End file.
